


Sentiment

by deweydrops



Series: A Sorta Fairytale [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Classism, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Fantastic Racism, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Mind Manipulation, Rape/Non-con Elements, Starvation, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Torture, heat exhaustion, tooth violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2020-03-20 00:11:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18981202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deweydrops/pseuds/deweydrops
Summary: Sigyn's renewed hope is tested when her search for Loki leaves her grasping at straws for answers. She's willing to do anything it takes to find him, but other forces, both near and far, conspire to keep them apart. Post-Thor through the events of the Avengers.





	1. Prelude

_Darkness._

_Cold._

_Metal._

_Was this Hel?_

_He'd lost consciousness at some point during the fall into the abyss, letting the endless expanse of space and darkness take him. Nothing above, nothing below. Only falling until his body scattered across the realms. At last he would be nowhere. He would be nothing._

_Yet he was not scattered. He was whole._

_This was not nowhere._

_Yet he was still nothing._

_He was not falling. He was still, laying down on a hard slab, his head throbbing. He could not move, and his eyes were too sore to open all the way. Through his lashes a tall, thin, shadowed figure loomed over him. Another figure, this one seated not unlike Odin on a golden throne, looked on._

“ _A prince of Asgard.” the voice above him said. “This one is strong, to have survived the abyss.”_

_Survived. So this was not Hel. The word brought tears to the corners of his eyes, but they were not ones of relief or happiness._

_"Asgard,” came the dispassionate response. “Hmm. Go deeper.”_

_Sharp pains pierced his mind like dozens of needles. A cry of agony escaped his dry throat. The pain probed its way into his psyche, pulling and tearing at his memories, his thoughts, deep into the unknown parts of his subconscious._

_No, this was not Hel._

_This was worse._

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigyn emerges from her bedchambers to start her search for Loki, but finds more obstacles than she'd planned. Meanwhile, a broken Loki finds himself in strange company after his fall. Who can they trust on their way back to each other?

Imbued with the faintest glimmer of hope, Sigyn emerged from her chambers for the first time in ages and headed straight to the great library. Most of the court looked the other way as she moved through the halls. She was glad for the new-found anonymity- it gave her a chance to continue her search away from prying eyes. If the gold key's shimmer was any indication, Loki had heard her call for him, and his magic still worked. Thus, he must still be alive.

In the long weeks that had followed, Sigyn tried the key again and again, sending message after message. Though the key still thrummed with magical energy, the glimmer of green light did not return. She knew not if he could hear her anymore, nor had she received any sign of his survival.

Her silver key, the one that should have allowed her to locate him, proved fruitless. For as much as she wielded the map of Yggdrasil it revealed, she could not discern his presence anywhere in the nine worlds. Perhaps the known worlds did not extend to his current location, or some other entity concealed him.

Or perhaps he did not wish to be found.

It was a possibility to consider, though the thought wounded her. She could not wrap her mind around how hurt Loki must have been to prefer death over facing the truth of his heritage, his family. He'd even chosen the fall over being with her.

_Of course he did, idiot_ , Sigyn thought, silently cursing her impulsive words. Another pang of regret shot through her gut. Many such pangs tormented her since Loki's fall, yet hit fresh each time she recalled the last words she'd said to him.

_I am ashamed to be your wife._

She ached to think how he'd been in such despair. How the thousand little cuts from Odin, Thor, the court...it had all festered into such resentment and she hadn't the faintest idea of how deep Loki's anguish burned until it was too late. She'd naively assumed that she, and the little world they'd cultivated together, was enough to shield him from the pain. But their tiny world was not the only world they'd had to live in- in the end, there was no escaping the palace, his family, the ugly secrets. And just when he needed her most, her thoughtless words wounded him.

She pushed the heavy doors open, finding no sign of anyone else present, much to her relief. She reached her desk, stacked with the atlases she'd researched of the nine realms, back when a spoiled coronation and a few rogue Jotuns were her biggest concerns. She swatted away a few cobwebs, her materials untouched since she'd been here last.

“I will find you, Loki,” she whispered. She idly fingered the fraying collar of Loki's old tunic, which she'd worn since the day she'd lost him. “And we will go as far away from Asgard as the cosmos will allow.”

As she made her way to the back section of the library, she noticed how empty the long rows of shelves were. Almost entire sections had been cleared, and the sight disturbed her. Though she'd meant to clear out any outdated materials, she hadn't done so in quite a while, and certainly not to this extent. Either someone had gutted the collection already, or was currently researching hundreds of unrelated texts.

The doors opened once again, now that the sun had risen. In walked two young nobles. Sigyn recognized them immediately as Bjorr, the son of Tyr, and Colburn, a son of Herryk.

“Good morrow, sons of Tyr and Herryk,” she smiled as she walked towards the entrance. “What brings you to the library today?”

The two young men glanced at each other, clearly not expecting to see her. “We're here to attend to our duties,” said Bjorr.

“Your duties?”

“As assistants of the library,” Colburn added.

Sigyn stared at the two. Surely this was some sort of jest. Anders and Eleni were her assistants, she'd chosen them herself. These two had not set foot in here once in the time she'd spent as the royal curator.

“And who appointed you?”

“The king himself,” said Bjorr, straightening with pride.

“And are you two the reason my collection is in shambles?” Sigyn fought the rising tone of her voice.

“By orders of the king we are to seize any texts that threaten the peace of the realm,” said Colburn.

Sigyn's eyes widened as she connected the stronger than usual smell of smoke from the palace fires that she'd noticed over the past few weeks. Her stomach roiled at the thought of all the lost knowledge she'd failed to protect. She wasted no more time on her new “assistants” and stormed out of the library, straight for the throne room.

“...It is the work of Johann of Okolnir,” she heard Fandral's voice as she came closer, realizing the king was now in the midst of his morning council meeting. “He's published another collection.”

“This is a disgrace,” Odin's voice reverberated through the halls as Sigyn rounded the corner into the throne room, with Bjorr and Colburn's footsteps behind her. “How dare an upstart agitator think to insult his own king?”

“We are working to learn more, but it is no easy task,” came Fandral's reply. “The books are easy to come across but the author is elusive.”

“I want him found, and brought here to answer for his petty diatribes,” Odin commanded. “He will pay for besmirching the throne!”

“Due respect my king,” Fandral protested. “But is the pursuit of a writer of a few critical texts truly the best task for our forces?”

“The best use of our forces is following my command. Find this Johann. That is an order.”

“Your majesty,” Sigyn strode into throne room, disrupting the meeting. She cared not what other matters were at hand. She gave a cursory bow. “I must speak with you at once.”

“Sigyn. Emerged from her chambers at last,” the king smirked. “And whatever urgent matter have you that you must disturb my council?”

“Where are my library assistants?”

“A foolish question. They are right behind you.”

“No. My assistants are Eleni Erikdottir and Anders Ingerson, and as head curator I will see them reinstated to their positions. And who authorized such a massive culling of our texts without my knowledge?”

“The great library, and every written word in it, are property of the king of Asgard, not you. And as your king I hold the final say in who shall hold a position in my palace, and the texts within it!” Odin snapped. “You will accept your new assistants and you will adhere to my commands if you wish to continue setting foot in the great library in any capacity. Is that understood?”

Sigyn turned to see Bjorr and Colburn standing behind her. She brushed aside a desire to smack the satisfied grins from their faces. Before her, Tyr and Herryk stood on either side of Odin, almost daring her to challenge the decision.

She knew now why Odin had replaced her assistants with these two.

Because their fathers were long-trusted elders of the Allfather's council. And their offspring would prove unfailingly loyal their king.

Standing before the Allfather and his council of warriors, wearing only an old tunic and stockings, Sigyn realized just how utterly small and vulnerable she was. Wrapped in her grief for Loki, she'd never considered her own precarious position within the palace. She cared not for titles or wealth, but it seemed her own future here remained uncertain, and she could not be sure where she stood in Odin's graces.

And, as much as she wished for Eleni and Anders' return, she could losing her access to the library. She had important research ahead if she was going to find Loki. Her old assistants, for now, would have to wait.

And she would have to be far more careful.

“Now, I've much more important matters to discuss. I trust you will find your new assistants most agreeable in time. Have you anything else to say?”

From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Theoric leering at her, and tried in vain to conceal herself from his view.

“No, your majesty,” she said, now eager to escape the prying eyes. She turned from the throne room, still feeling the eyes burning against her back.

*

He wasn't sure how much time had passed. Days, weeks...it all blurred together in the darkness. All he'd known since the crystal needles tore through his mind were long hours in the dark, narrow cell.

And the heat.

It weighed on him like an oppressive wave, sweating streaming out of his pores and leaving his throat desperately dry. Just when his vision began to blur and strange shapes manifested in the shadows before him, a small glass of water would appear in the small slat in the door. Just enough to keep him conscious, but no more.

Some time ago a slice of gray, nearly rancid meat appeared beside the water. He hadn't touched it. No other form of sustenance appeared since. He'd begun to regret casting it aside now.

They'd taken his daggers, his armor, even his boots. He languished in his under tunic and breeches, with just enough room in the cell to sit with his legs fully extended, his toes reaching the opposite wall. His hair plastered to his forehead, falling into his eyes no matter how often he swept it aside.

This dark, sweltering cell. It was all he had now.

Except, every once in awhile...

_Her._

At first he thought it was the delirium setting in, the sudden pull of her magic in this forsaken vessel. Then her voice in his mind:

_I'm sorry. I miss you..._

With trembling hands he reached into the deep pocket of his tunic, finding a lock of red-blonde hair, tied with the yellow ribbon he'd pilfered from her eons ago, and kept with him ever since. It glowed with a soft golden light in the darkness. He'd enchanted it by binding it to the key he'd given to her so that she could contact him even if he was far away. He'd never imagine she'd need to use it. The shock alone was enough to pull his own magic from the center of his heart, a deep green flash in response to her signal.

_Please return to me_ …

The last vestige of his magic exhausted, Loki simply closed his eyes in defeat. For however much he ached for her, he could not return.

Her messages continued, pleading for some sign of his survival. Loki let the connection come and go, enveloping him in her soft warmth before fading away into the dark. A brief balm against the agony as he slid the lock of hair between his fingers. He wondered what had become of her, what she was doing now. If she did truly miss him or merely attempting to assuage her guilt. If she truly was ashamed of him as she'd said. How much longer she would try to reach him before she moved on with someone new.

The metallic clink of a lock unlatching shook Loki from his stupor. For the first time since he'd been brought here, the cell door creaked open. One of the guards entered. “This way,” he grunted.

Loki stood on unstable legs, tucking the lock of hair out of sight . His vision blurred as his head swam. He followed the guard, struggling to keep pace down the hall, his body stiff and uncertain in the dark. A second guard followed close behind, roughly jostling Loki forward each time his pace slowed.

They came to the end of the hall. The first guard opened the door, leading into what looked like a dining chamber. “In there,” the guard ordered. The second guard pushed Loki forward, sending him stumbling past the doorway. Once inside, the door slammed shut, leaving Loki alone.

At the end of a long dining table sat a Titan, purple and imposing. This, Loki presumed, was his captor. A steaming cauldron in the middle of the table gave off a rich aroma, and reminded Loki of just how long it had been since he'd eaten. Saliva pooled in his mouth. He fought the urge to lean against the wall in his weakness, and simply stood near the doorway.

Only a fool would move in closer without a weapon or escape plan. His eyes swept over his surroundings. No guards present, only the Titan himself. The only exit was the hallway from which he came, now closed and locked. He saw no signs of weapons, and the Titan sat patiently at the table, ladling some hot liquid from the cauldron into a bowl.

Loki regarded the Titan. Even in his disoriented state he knew to be wary of his captor's intentions. If the plan was to kill Loki, he would have been dead long before now. If he'd planned to save Loki, why the crystal needles digging into his mind? Why the eternity spent in the cell? Surely the Titan needed him alive, for some other purpose, though he'd not yet worked out what.

For now, Loki assessed, some degree of cooperation suited him best. If for now other reason than perhaps a respite from the cell. He straightened as much as he could manage before stepping forward.

“Come sit, Asgardian,” said the Titan, tearing a chunk of bread from a plate beside the cauldron. A large pitcher of water sat near the plate of bread, and the Titan slowly poured himself a glass. The sight forced a soft whimper from Loki's lips.

The Titan gestured to a place setting across the table. Loki's body betrayed his resolve, and he crossed the room, joining the Titan at the table. His knees buckled as soon as he reached the chair, undermining his attempted at dignity.

“You're a long way from home,” the Titan began. He ladled more liquid, a heavy stew, Loki saw now, into the second bowl, and placed it before Loki. He tried his utmost to ignore the savory aroma of cooked meat beneath him. He watched as his captor ate several spoonfuls of the stew. The Titan seemed to bear no ill effects from the meal. “I expect your absence has caused quite a stir, yes?”

Loki silently listened, detecting no ill will in the Titan's words or tone. His stomach yearned for a taste of the stew, the warm bread. His throat longed for a pitcher of water just an arm's length away. Yet still he held back, still watching, still studying. He waited, until the Titan revealed his true purpose for taking Loki.

They'd found him still wearing his ceremonial armor, and clearly knew he'd fallen from Asgard. He supposed most royal houses would pay all the riches they could muster for the return of a kidnapped relative. But he was not of the house of Odin after all. And if Odin ever did harbor any real affection for Loki, that fondness was certainly gone now. The Allfather may wish to see Loki returned to face justice for his actions, but was unlikely to part with any amount of gold for such a purpose.

“Whatever exorbitant sum you're hoping to extract from the Allfather, I'm afraid you've taken the wrong prince,” said Loki, his voice hoarse. “You're far better off casting me back into the endless void from which you plucked me.” At least the void proved a more comfortable resting place than the cell.

“Accumulation of wealth for wealth's sake is the goal of a shallow ruler. To take that which rightfully belongs to another.” said the Titan. “A man of honor strives beyond trinkets and trophies. But I suspect you have learned something about this.”

Loki ran his fingers lightly over the spoon before him. He clenched his jaw at the Titan's words, at the way Odin's confession burned in his mind.

“I know what it is, to be mocked, to be little more than a laughingstock to those one holds most dear. To be cast out of the home you cherish,” the Titan went on, pushing the plate of bread towards Loki. “It is no easy thing, to stand against the tide of popular thought. To see what is right when all others are blind.”

A bitter laugh escaped Loki's aching lungs. “You've no idea what I've endured.”

The Titan tore off another piece of bread. Loki's stomach audibly groaned at the prospect of securing a piece for himself before it was gone.

“Yet I know where you stand now, for I have been in such dire straits myself,” said the Titan, almost meditative in his tone. “Alone. Rejected. Betrayed. Lost with no sense of purpose. No belonging.”

Loki forces his eyes shut, silently cursing the tears that threatened to spill at the Titan's words, each one hitting him in the gut.

“But then, I discovered my true calling, a real sense of purpose beyond that which my elders had planned for me. And so I grew. I learned. I found real power.”

In spite of himself, Loki spoke. “And what, may I ask, do you mean by 'real power'?”

“Real power comes not from status,” said the Titan. “But from one's ability to affect change. To bend the bow of destiny to one's own purpose.”

“ _Bend the bow of destiny._ ” Loki tentatively opened his eyes, now that the threat of tears subsided. He kept his eyes fixed on his still untouched bowl, his fingers grasping at the spoon. His will would give out soon, but he held strong just a bit longer.

“One cannot do it alone, of course,” said the Titan. “My children all bear stories similar to mine. To yours. It is no accident we found you when we did. Kindred spirits have ways of finding each other, you see.”

He shook his head, fighting the way his heart pulled at the promise hidden between the words. “The needles,” he gasped, fighting the threads of saliva at the corners of his mouth. The aroma of the stew lingered beneath his nose, overpowering his own reason. “The cell...”

“It was necessary,” said the Titan. “The Maw said you were strong, but we had to be sure. You see, only one must be remarkable to join my children. One must be strong. One must be...”

At last, Loki looked up at the Titan, already anticipating the next word.

“...worthy.”

Now the tears fell in earnest, that even in his wretched state, with no family, no title, not even a home, unwanted, cast out, weeping over a bowl of soup and piece of bread, someone might see in him what Odin never did. Tremulous fingers reached for the remaining piece of bread. Rivulets of drool streamed down his chin as he brought a morsel to his lips. It was nowhere near enough, but at last, it was _something._

The Titan's hand covered his shoulder. “We will see, little king.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigyn makes a discovery in the weapons vault that reveals more of Loki's heritage...and proves Odin has told yet another lie.

The hour grew late in Asgard. One by one, the court began to retire to their chambers, leaving only the scant crew of overnight guards and servants roaming the halls.

Sigyn waited for the corridor to clear of the guards, her thoughts filled with memories of Loki. He'd always been a restless soul, and occasionally roamed the dark halls for hours long after the lights were extinguished. Most often right before an important mission, or after a particularly heated exchange between Odin and Thor, or when he was simply too agitated to sleep. Early in their marriage she'd try to wait up for him, but inevitably she would succumb to sleep in the antechamber divan, a book in her lap. She'd wake to find him carrying her into the bedchamber. He'd lightly kiss her cheek before tucking her beneath the covers and laying beside her. When she'd gone to bed on her own, she'd wake to find him curling beside her. “Only me, sweetheart. Go back to sleep.” he'd whisper, before kissing her cheek as her eyelids closed. Always, she woke to find him beside her.

Until he wasn't.

With the corridor silent, Sigyn snuck out of her chambers, keeping her steps light, and dutifully checking each corner before she turned.

She reached the weapons vault, thus far unnoticed. With the Destroyer gone, she had little to fear entering the vault, though the prospect of being caught would no doubt raise suspicions. Still, with her keys proving useless and eyes on her wherever she went, she needed more powerful tools to aid her search.

She pushed open the heavy door, grimacing at the loud groan of hinges. She froze, almost certain the guards at heard them. Still, the hall remained silent, and she crept inside. Surveying the vault, with powerful relics from other realms displayed like trophies, Sigyn wondered just how Odin came to possess such treasures. Loki sometimes told her of the items within the vault, though Odin forbade her from seeing them herself.

She descended the steps, eyes casting about for the Tuning Fork. According to the lore, the Tuning Fork allowed its user to locate where magic was being used, or detect dangers to the realm. If Loki survived his fall, it was still possible that he was in danger. And if her visions had been anything to go by, the danger could threaten Asgard itself.

The visions. She'd stopped having them after Loki fell from the Bifrost, but the images haunted her nonetheless. She tried to access them, but now, when she did dream, all she saw were memories of her time with Loki. Only the past, never the future. She tried taking nearly every herb known to induce strong, vivid dreams, but only woke with painful reminders of her failure.

As she passed the relics, the swirling blue and white of the Casket of Ancient Winters caught her eye. Though she did not come down to the vault for it, nonetheless she found herself drawn to it. Only a Jotun could wield its power, yet she could feel the immense frost beneath the glass as her fingers trailed along the relic.

 _We've no business keeping this_ , Sigyn thought as she studied the Casket. After all the destruction on the Jotunheim, the Jotuns were surely in dire need of the source of their power, yet here it was displayed in the vault of their enemy. It ought to be returned, yet Odin would never allow it.

When her hand passed over the side handle of the Casket, her own magic flowed down the engraved pattern etched along the glass, causing the swirling blue magic within to vanish. Sigyn froze, staring at the empty Casket. How had she managed to break it?

The handle slid open, revealing an ancient, bound journal. Sigyn slipped her fingers into the glass, gently prying the delicate pages from the Casket. Once freed, the Casket slid closed and the magic within returned.

Loosely bound together with a thin leather cord, the journal seemed hastily thrown together with varying sizes and texture of parchment, though all the pages shared the Jotun script and uniform hand writing. On the cover, only one word:

 _Farbauti_.

Sigyn furrowed her brow. She knew little of the Jotunheim or its royal family, but it was said that Laufey had a beloved consort by the name of Farbauti, who was half Asgardian, half Jotun. 

Her fingers lightly turned the brittle pages, finding a number of entries marked over over a millenia ago. One date stood out in particular:

_Dec 17, 965-_

_It seems I have been blessed with a most delightful early Solstice gift: my son has entered the world at last. For these long months I have wondered which traits he will favor- that of Laufey's full Jotun form or my prominent Asgardian features. Our little frostling is a splendid mix of both: blue as a robin's egg, with eyes that flash like little rubies, yet with the stature of an Asgardian, and small wisps of dark hair that match my own. Never in my life have I felt such an overwhelming love as I do when I hold him in my arms. Nor such a fierce protectiveness that I am certain I would gladly fight my way through a 1,000 foes who would dare threaten him._

_Laufey believes the Jotuns will never accept such a small Jotun as their king, and I do not doubt he will have many challenges ahead as a child of two rival worlds, as I have faced myself. Yet no matter what the rest of the kingdom may think, my son will always have my heart._

_-Ti_

Sigyn bit her lip, suspicions rising. Her original mission forgotten, she turned the page.

_Dec. 20, 965-_

_This day is a somber one as our armies of departed to face the Asgardians. Laufey has bade me and our son take refuge in the temple, for the tensions among the realms mean we are not safe even among our own, and he cannot protect us while he is away. Though I am so stranger to loathing glances and cruel taunts, I must admit he may be right. The Jotunheim feels different now, as though something is ending for us. It is all too possible some of our people may desire a target for their anger, and both my son and myself may be deemed Asgardian enough to incur their wrath. So here we are, in the temple until the war is over._

_Though we must delay the naming ceremony until after the war, I am already thinking of endless new names for our newborn. Each time I hold him, I whisper the new names in his ear, to see which suits him best. Yet my clever frostling has selected his own name! Tonight, as I nursed him, I whispered one name that came into my head from nowhere:_

_Loki_

_And when I said it, he stopped nursing and looked up me. And smiled! So he will be called Loki, son of Laufey and Farbauti, crown prince of Jotunheim, and treasure of my heart._

_-Ti_

“Odin, you terrible, terrible liar,” Sigyn whispered. According to Odin, Loki was abandoned at the temple, left to die for his small size. Yet nothing in Farbauti's words suggested anything of the sort. If anything, they'd gone to the temple for safety, not sacrifice. How Loki must have despaired, to think that his own birth parents thought him worthless.

_Jan 3, 966-_

_The war drags on, yet no word from the front. Our supplies remain plentiful, though I pray each night for Laufey's safe return. My days are spent looking after our son, and working on embroidery for Loki's swaddling blanket. I've so far added his name along with the House of Laufey emblem to it, so that he may never forget his heritage._

_Loki remains the bright spot in this long days in the temple. He is proving quite clever, inquisitive, and I can already tell he will keep me on my toes in the years to come. He sleeps now, and looking at him I find myself thinking of my own mother, and her own worrisome nature over me, as I now feel it for Loki. How I used to bemoan her fretfulness when I accepted the duty of Ymir's cup-bearer and left for Utgard! How she waited all night long for my return when I'd go dancing with my mates at sundown! I never understood why she implored me to stay near her, but now I am starting to see something of why she worried for me, as I know now how cruel the realms can be to those to do not meet socially approved standards of appearance, values, and abilities. If I could I would spare Loki all of the world's cruelties, so that he would only know the serene quiet of this temple, but it cannot remain so. Yet I do not wish to hide him away as my own mother tried to do with me. I wish him to go forth in his own way, and if he cannot find a world that will accept him, then he may create one for himself, as I have tried yet never quite succeeded in doing for myself._

_-Ti_

Footsteps outside the main doors pulled Sigyn away from her reading. She cursed under her breath. Absorbed in her discovery, she'd lost track of time, and now the guards were resuming their daylight rounds. She needed to exit the Vault, and quickly. She tucked Farbauti's journal beneath her shawl and slipped out, careful not to be noticed.

She rounded the corner to the main hall, picking up her pace before the servants arrived at the royal chambers.

“Why, good morrow, _Princess,”_ Theoric's voice sounded behind her, startling Sigyn. “A bit early for you to be up and about, is it not?”

Sigyn cleared her throat. “Theoric. Good day.”

She turned away, but Theoric was not satisfied with this exchange. His imposing form moved in front of her, blocking her path.

“Shouldn't you be skulking about in your chambers? Or sitting among your dusty books?” he asked, a certain gleam in his eye now that they were alone. “Of course, you'd have to be on the opposite side of the palace if you wished to go either of those places.” He leaned forward, closing the space between them. “Where could our little princess have gone, I wonder?”

Sigyn held firm despite Theoric's gaze. “This is my home. I am entitled to venture wherever I please. And now I wish to return to my rooms. As I said, _good day._ ” Again, she turned to leave.

“Oh, no, you will not speak to me like that, ” Theoric growled, grabbing her wrist. Sigyn gasped, both from shock and pain. Theoric pulled her back. “You think yourself so high and powerful? You're nothing but a filthy peasant masquerading as a respectable woman. We all know it was that dead traitor husband of yours who put you in here, dragging you in from whatever little manure-filled shack you came from for his own amusement.”

Sigyn's magic flared at the insult, and light flashed from her wrist. But Theoric only clenched his fist tighter. “You think to assault the captain of Odin's private force?” He chuckled with derision. “That will earn you more than a few lashings, my dear.”

Sigyn cast away the magic despite her fear. For Theoric was right and he knew it. Odin had never been especially fond of Sigyn and without Loki he would see little reason to listen to her if she were to strike back against Theoric. He would surely favor Theoric's many years of unquestioning allegiance over her defiant tongue and unwavering support of Loki. Alone and cornered, all she could do now was hope Theoric would soon leave her be.

Theoric's fingers clenched against her chin. “Now, I shall ask you one more time: Where. Were. You. Going?” His grip on her wrist was so strong her fingertips began to tingle. His face so close to hers that his beard scratched against her cheek.

The clinking of a food cart pulled Theoric away from his fixation on Sigyn. They turned to see a servant pushing trays of freshly made food down the corridor. The servant paused, seeing the tense moment between them.

In an instant Theoric's frothing anger vanished, replaced by a broad, charming grin. “Good morrow, dear sir!” he called to the servant. “I have discovered Princess Sigyn out and about, such a delight to see her among us once again, is it not?”

Sigyn shot the servant a pleading gaze, hoping he would in some way get her away from Theoric, or at least not leave her alone with him. Hoping he would sense her fear even though she was too shocked to speak.

The servant glanced between Theoric and Sigyn.

“Well, if you'll excuse us, I must escort the princess back to her chambers. Wouldn't want to disturb anyone by thinking she'd just up and run off somewhere, would we?” Theoric looped his elbow into the crook of her arm, pulling them into a pose that might seem romantic of not for Theoric's tight hold on her forearm. Her skin squeezed against his metal armor.

With that, Theoric pulled her forward, marching down the corridor with her in tow. The servant mere nodded, and returned to the food cart. Sigyn struggled to keep up with Theoric's long strides. Her knees shook, yet Theoric was strong, and merely pulled her along as though she were no more than an accessory like his cape. He did not stop, nor even look at her as they went, though he did grin and greet each soul they passed on the way.

Sigyn had never been so relieved to reach her chambers. Theoric stopped before the golden doors, finally releasing her. But not before brushing his lips against the top of her hand.

“A good day to you, my princess,” he declared, his tone warm but his eyes cold. “I trust we'll meet again very soon.”

Stunned, Sigyn shut the door firmly behind her, and leaned against the wall. She slid down to her knees, lightly rocking in some vain attempt at comfort. Yet Theoric's domineering, intimidating, _lustful_ stare still bore into her long after he'd gone.

She closed her eyes and breathed, her chest rising and falling until her heart settled. She wished now more than ever to be near Loki, for his protective embrace and soft, reassuring voice. When she could stand again, she set off into the private study with her grimoires with an ever-strengthening resolve.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigyn's efforts to contact Loki get results, but her joy is cut short when a grave danger reveals itself.

“Finish.”

Loki drew his daggers forward, blinking away the sweat from his eyes. Somewhere in the darkened arena, his final foe crept along the corners, waiting to strike. Above them, the Titan's voice commanded that the fight go on, that one of them emerge victorious. Mere minutes ago, there had been a dozen, all “potentials” as the Titan called them, looking to gain his favor and a place among his children. And to do so, they were commanded to battle each other to prove their worth. Loki, it seemed, had been but one of many such lost souls. Now, only Loki and his final opponent stood, circling one another among the felled corpses.

Arms shaking from the long battle, one of several he'd endured since falling under the Titan's control, Loki swiped here and there at each passing shadow, certain the next would be the foe striking him at last. He moved toward the center, careful not to lose his footing over the bodies that littered the ground, eyes wide and alert, pushing through the physical and mental exhaustion. To fail now would mean death, to disappoint the Titan would mean endless agony in that cell, or worse.

A quick movement behind his left shoulder. Loki whirled, catching his foe just in time to avoid the blow of an ax. For a long moment Loki and his foe held each other off in a standoff, the ax blocked by Loki's daggers, neither willing to yield. They locked eyes, and Loki saw flicker of recognition in his foe's face: a look of desperation, of lost hope, of _need_ , and Loki knew his own eyes bore that same miserable countenance now. The sight made him do something he'd never done once in his long years of battle:

He hesitated.

To the untrained eye, it was barely noticeable. Yet, as he'd heard many times in the sparring yards, the blink of an eye could mean life or death. And for Loki it would have meant death as his grip on the ax loosened for just a moment, nearly giving in to the exhaustion. To the desire to spare a life worth no more than his.

But his senses quickly returned when the ax shifted from his grasp and nearly caught him in the torso. In an instant, Loki regained his stance, asserting his control of the battle and wresting control of the ax from the foe, who toppled as the weapon dropped. Loki drew his dagger, placing it at the foe's throat.

“Well?” came the voice from above.

At the command, Loki's dagger slashed.

Amid a pool of blood, the foe's body relaxed, eyes closing, face a picture of relief. Whatever madness, whatever tortures, whatever pain had haunted their soul now, the pain was over.

Loki envied such good fortune.

Gasping for breath, Loki stood motionless among the dead bodies. The victor. Yet no glory could be found in this dark arena in the bowels of space. For there would only be more battles ahead, until Thanos decided if he was worthy, or he died here after all.

He waited, staring up from the pit, Thanos' face hidden from view. If he'd done well, which he'd hoped he had as the victor of yet another battle, perhaps he would be granted a reward- extra food rations, a night or two with a cot to sleep on in his cell instead of the hard ground, a bath perhaps- if not, punishment- hours of isolation in the heated box, the crystal needles, burning... whatever horrors the Titan's mind might conjure.

His chest heaved as his heart raced. A faint metallic taste streamed through his mouth. His fingers grazed his lips and over his jaw, a sharp pain nearly blinding him when he reached near the back molars. A blow to his head early in the battle left a tooth badly cracked, and he'd bitten into his tongue at the impact. He wiped the blood from his hands, setting his jaw so as to not disturb the broken tooth.

“Up here, Asgardian,” the Titan said at last.

Muscles protesting from further movement, Loki forced himself up the steep steps out of the arena. His head swam from pain, starvation, and deprivation of every sort, yet he kept his posture high and his face impassive as he'd learned to do over the centuries of royal upbringing.

The Titan said nothing, still sitting as Loki approached. Thanos knew Loki awaiting his word, his assessment of Loki's worthiness, and Loki knew he wanted to see him crack, show his weakness, his eagerness to please. But to do so would only prove to the Titan that Loki was not ready, and he'd be sent to the Maw or the Other for additional training. So Loki stayed silent.

After a standoff lasting several minutes, the Titan stood. “Follow me.”

Loki followed, unable to assess the Titan's mood. He'd considered himself skilled at reading people, understanding what made them tick, what they showed to the world and kept hidden, and why. Most were an open book for him, yet the Titan proved maddening in his stalwart refusal to betray any feeling.

“I, too, know what it is, to endure the suffering as your weakness burns away,” Thanos spoke as they walked down the long corridors. “Rare is the survivor who overcomes near death to prevail under the obstacles I present as you have.” He sighed. “...which is why it is so disappointing to see such potential fall to waste.”

Loki staggered to keep pace, though he held his head high and concealed the struggled of his steps. His throat tightened, fearing further punishment despite his place as the victor. He wondered what he'd done to displease the Titan. “All that you have asked of me I have fulfilled.” He winced from the pain in his tooth.

“Yet you continue to resist. Sentiment tethers you away from embracing a higher purpose. Of giving yourself over to a glorious destiny.”

Tears of torment welled in Loki's eyes. All his efforts and still he held no esteem in the Titan's eyes. He held his aching mouth steady until they subsided. “Wha...what must I do?”

They arrived now at Thanos' throne, beside which stood an underling holding a spear with a blue glowing orb between its bladed edges.

“This,” said Thanos, as the underling stepped forward, kneeling as it presented the spear in front of Loki. “Is one of my most revered weapons. My scepter. To wield it is to helm incredible power.” A massive hand rested on Loki's shoulder. “Go ahead.”

Loki lifted the scepter. The energy of the orb vibrated beneath his fingers, moving through them and into his whole body. The rush of power nearly dissolved the weakness he'd been fighting. For this first time since he'd fallen into the abyss, he believed he might be worthy.

“Such a gift is not to be handled lightly,” said the Titan. Loki tore his eyes from the scepter's blue orb. “You must prove you are a being capable of its power. Only then is it yours.”

“I am,” Loki answered, breathless. “How must I prove it?”

Thanos took back the scepter, and immediately Loki's hands reached out to take hold of it once more, the physical torment flooding back with such fury he fell to his knees. The very last ounce of strength evaporated his body, and he collapsed, breathless.

Beyond the blue glow that flooded Loki's vision, the Titan grinned.

“Submit.”

*

Sigyn returned to the weapons vault, carefully choosing the right evening to avoid Theoric, who managed to cross her path more often these days. Only in the safety of her chambers was she truly free of his presence, lingering in the corner of her eye or finding himself assigned to whatever post happened to bring him near her. She avoided him each time, but her discomfort grew each time he came near.

But now that she knew of his comings and goings, she knew too when he would be elsewhere, and took advantage of the first sunset when he was posted down by the gardens, away from the weapons vault. She crept down the darkened corridors, retracing her silent steps until she reached the vault.

She came upon the Turning Fork, determined to find some trace of Loki's magic in the universe. She'd never used such a powerful instrument before, but any hesitation vanished at the thought of locating Loki. She took a breath and placed her key on top of the fork.

She swept her hand over the key, drawing out its magic. Faint sparks of green flashed over the metal before activating the Tuning Fork. An image of the cosmos appeared before her, billions of dotted lights appearing, some brighter than others, all showing sources of magic spanning the realms and beyond. The image swirled as the key flashed, drawing closer and closer to a matching energy. Sigyn fingered the frayed collarbone of Loki's tunic, peeking just above her dress, watching the scene, hoping for a sign.

“Please, please show me him,” she implored.

The image twisted and turned, lights vanishing while others grew closer. The view pushed past the nine realms, into a dark void where fewer lights or signs of life could be found. The swirling slowed, focusing on an intense concentration of blue energy. The closer the image came, the stronger the energy grew, even Sigyn could feel it through from her space in the vault. But it was no mere magic, it was a powerful, cosmic force, exceeding that of even the most powerful sorcerers. She furrowed her brow, wondering why the Turning Fork had honed on this, for it bore no resemblance to Loki's magic. It did, however, leave her troubled. The image held, the mass of glowing light stilled in deep space her only answer.

She reached out a hand to touch the image, though her hand passed right through. She studied the energy, fearful the longer she looked, for she sensed its danger. She stared, its pull reaching into her mind as though it knew she was watching.

_I've no idea what forces I am confronting. I should never have fooled with this._ Sigyn thought.

It was then, deep within the epicenter of the force, she spotted it. A faint, deep green flicker, shrouded by the energy, hidden away in the void. At first she wasn't sure if it was truly there, but as her eyes focused, there was no mistaking it. Magic. A magic she ached to feel again.

“ _Loki,”_ Sigyn breathed, a tear streaming down her cheek. He was there. He was _somewhere_.

But where?

And why was such a dangerous force surrounding him?

“Loki,” she whispered, her hand tracing over the small green light, “I will find you.”

The green flicker brightened at the sound of her voice.

“Loki?” Sigyn pressed, relieved that she'd made contact. “Are you alright?”

The green brightened further. She'd wondered where he was, if he could hear her. If he could answer.

“Loki,” Sigyn tried again. “Can you tell me where you are? Are you safe? Do you...do you want to come home?”

The green faltered. The surrounding force pushed back on it with a power so intense Sigyn worried Loki's magic would snuff out under its weight.

“Loki?” Sigyn's voice tightened. “Is...is something hurting you?”

The image dissolved, leaving Sigyn in the dark. An instant later, the blue energy burst forth from the Tuning Fork, sending the key flying away and knocking Sigyn back against the wall. Sigyn ducked into the corner when she hit the ground, blinded by the force. Somewhere, in the middle of the energy, a figure, not Loki, but something entirely foreign, stood in the shadow.

_Stay away._

And just as swiftly, the force vanished for good. Sigyn lay curled in terror for a long moment, too shaken to move. Once the feeling returned to her limbs, she scrambled for her key, finding it discarded along the back corridor. She pressed it to her heart, slamming it against her chest over and over, murmuring Loki's name. Yet this time, no flash, no thrum of magic emerged despite her efforts. The enchantment had burned away. Around her, the light of the vault returned, the midnight palace quiet, as though nothing at all strange had occurred. 

Sigyn straightened, visions of the force and the figure seared into her mind. At once her hope morphed into genuine terror, for she knew Loki was in danger.

 

In the deep void, the Titan and the Maw stood above their barely-conscious prisoner, the one who'd shown such promise in the pit, who'd fallen from grace and into their clutches. Now one pressed the scepter against the side of their prospect's head, ignoring the cries of pain.

“It seems the stone has done its work,” said the Maw.

“Good,” said the Titan. “And the interloper?”

“Handled.”

The Titan shook his head. “That cannot happen again.”

“Then we will allow him to wield the scepter, that we may keep him close.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigyn makes one last attempt to retrieve Loki, but finds an unexpected visit instead. Thanos makes Loki an offer.

In his cell, Loki scraped together a piece of string, bits of his broken, crumbling old armor, and one of his smaller daggers. The pain of his cracked tooth shot through his jaw, his cheek, and down his neck. Had he been permitted food, he would have been in far too much pain to eat. Yet to voice his weakness would only invite further “tests” and so he'd waited until the Titan and the Maw had no need of him before handling the matter on his own.

He opened his mouth, tapping the small dagger until it poked the broken tooth. He winced, but angled the tip downward, slicing the gum below. He keened in pain, but knew this was little compared to what he was about to do. With the gum sufficiently opened, and enough of the tooth exposed, he removed the dagger, and inserted the string, tying the end around the tooth. He inhaled deeply, and pulled.

Pain wrenched from the tooth, forcing a strained scream from Loki's mouth, yet it did not budge. He pulled until he could bear it no longer, then stopped with a gasp. He paused his work, took several more deep breaths, and brought the dagger back to the tooth when he was ready. He sliced further, pushing against the tooth until he felt the roots twist and sever. He threw the dagger back, doubling over.

He picked up the string, struggling to return it to its position around the tooth, his mouth and fingers slick with saliva and blood. But after much more effort than he could afford to exert on the endeavor, the string was back in place. He steadied himself, readying his nerves for the pain to come. Three deep breaths, in and out, in and out, in and out.

And, when one more breath, he pulled. He did not relent, instead pulling as hard as possible, pushing through the weakness in his arms, the ache in his mouth. A long, drawn out scream burst from his throat, but he pulled and pulled, ignoring every sign his body gave to stop.

There was a shift.

A slick, wet _pop_.

Pain.

Searing, stinging, blinding pain where his tooth had been. Metallic liquid rushed through his mouth, and as he collapsed to the ground he spat the shattered enamel and blood from his lips. A guttural growl shook his body as the waves of pain rippled from the torn gum and ripped nerves.

“ _Sigyn. Sigyn.Sigyn.Sigyn.Sigyn.Sigyn.Sigyn.”_ Loki murmured the name over and over like an incantation, as he did when alone in this endless abyss, when he was certain the others were not listening. The one word that eased his pain.

“ _Sigyn.Sigyn.Sigyn.Sigyn..”_ He envisioned her, her warmth, her gentle eyes and soft smile, kneeling down to his wretched form on the ground, her hand caressing his cheek. An illusion, a trick of his mind to deal with the horrors, but every fiber of his being ached to be near her. The vision of her made him smile a bloodied, broken smile. “Sigyn.”

He placed his hand on top of hers, realizing too late the error. The mirage twitched and faded, leaving him deserted in the dark.

“Sigyn!” Hot tears threatened to spill from his eyes. Of course she wasn't here. She would never be here. Never again would she touch him with such tenderness, nor look upon him with such love. Not a cowering wretch like him. He never deserved her. He'd been mad to think he ever did.

He caught sight of his reflection in the few pieces of armor he still had. Gaunt. Pale. Sunken in eyes and dark circles. Bloodied teeth. Facial wounds that had yet to heal from countless “tests”. Long, greasy hair that hung into his eyes where he'd once been so fastidious about his appearance. Dirty tattered clothing that had once been his ceremonial armor. A feral, cornered animal where he'd once been a prince.

He slammed his fist against the wall at the sight as a wave of rage pierced his head. Odin. Thor. Frigga. Sif. The Warriors Three. They did this to him. They lied. Cast him out. Betrayed him. A lifetime of lies and belittlement and rejection and they dare declare him the great deceiver of Asgard. Traitors and treasonous oath-breakers, all of them. Yet only his crimes deserved punishment. Loki, ever the convenient scapegoat for their troubles, born to be despised, skulking in the shadows.

_I had no place in their eyes. Cast as the villain before I ever took my first breath. I will never be their hero._ Lost and defeated. Unmourned. Left for dead. Forgotten in favor of Thor.

"Damn them!" Loki hissed, red spittle flying from his lips. "Damn them all!" As his thoughts swirled, so his rage grew. But no longer was it the helpless, frustrated rage that knew no release. Now it sustained him, an ever-burning source of power.

It felt _good._

The door to his cell creaked open for the first time in several days. “Asgardian,” said the minion. “Come.”

Hastily, Loki tore a bit of green fabric from his ruined cape and stuffed it into his wounded gums. It did little to quell the bleeding or the pain but at least it was an attempt to heal. He followed the minion out of his chamber and up onto the large asteroid, finally ascending the floating steps where the Titan sat.

“Asgardian,” said the Titan. “Little king. It seems the sceptre has proved an agreeable weapon for you. You wield its power well.”

“You have taught me well,” said Loki through the pain.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Asgardian. Only accomplishing your missions.” The Titan nodded at another minion, who handed Loki the sceptre. He'd been training with it, studying the source of its power, the true nature of the stone in the middle. It was said to allow one to possess the minds of others, to influence their thoughts, yet he'd never had the opportunity to experiment with this power. “To that end, we have a task for you.”

Now the Maw stepped forward. He held up a hand, showing a vision of some underground dwelling in Midgard. Loki knew not who the mortals were, but he could see a glowing blue square inside a box. The mortals were very intrigued by their possession. As was Loki, for even at this distance he could sense a powerful relic.

“This is the Tesseract,” the Titan explained. “It is one of the relics I must obtain to realize my goals of balancing the universe. You will bring it to me. In return, I will grant you the Earth. A throne for you, little king.”

“A throne...” Loki murmured. He glanced up at the Titan with uncertainty. A generous offer, to be sure, a world to rule in return for a blue cube. The very realm his own brother suddenly swooned over and swore to protect. It would drive the oaf mad to know Loki had claimed it. And with no BiFrost, he and Odin would be helpless to stop him. They'd see him return as a king, worthy in his own right, no longer shackled to their ideas of who he should be.

“You will have one of my armies at your disposal,” said the Titan. “And the sceptre that you may observe the Tesseract. Learn its workings. It will grant you passage to your new kingdom.”

The anger burned as Loki held the sceptre, the key to striking back against all those who'd refused to respect him, who'd lied with smiles on their faces. Feral and cornered animal he may be, but such creatures were dangerous. Deadly. Out for their own survival, and ready to strike. For the first time in a long while, he felt formidable. Not a fallen prince, but a conqueror to be feared.

“I...accept.”

_*_

Sigyn took a deep breath, steadying herself for the tide of memories that would hit once she opened the door to the one room in her chambers she'd avoided since losing Loki: His private library. They'd spent so much time in there when he'd trained her, working spells, trading ideas, exploring Loki's personal collection of texts. But with Loki gone, she found little reason to enter the room, save to torture herself with memories of lost love.

She pushed the door open, finding the library just as she'd left it, even the opened astronomy guide still poised on the table, two chairs pushed out as they'd stood to leave. She closed her eyes, wishing she could return to that moment.

Instead, she forced her eyes back open and moved toward the back of the collection. To the magic texts- the standard volumes, the advanced incantations, and finally to the lower shelves hidden along the back wall. The texts whose very pages pulsated with danger and dark magic, their spines not yet cracked.

Every master sorcerer knew of these volumes- the ones that spoke of necromancy, dark forces, ghouls and demons from realms that should never see the sunlight. Only the most advanced sorcerers possessed such texts- the kind only spoken of in hushed whispers and even harder to obtain. Yet few had ever dabbled with the spells contained and lived to tell the tale. And those who did often fell to madness after such experiments. Even Loki had never dared attempt to use the spells within the dark texts, though Sigyn knew they'd always piqued his curiosity.

She knelt, her hand pausing over the hidden volumes. If even a master of magic such as Loki doubted his ability to handle such power, what hope did she have?

None, perhaps. But Loki was in danger and she could not let him suffer. Even if it cost her life. Or madness. Her hands grasped one of the volumes, her arms trembling as the power vibrated under her touch. She flipped through the pages, finding the spell she'd been seeking:

Dark energy.

To summon it would require every once of power she had, and even then success was not guaranteed. Ideally, a trusted partner would stay in the room with her while she traversed the dark void in her search for Loki. Unfortunately for Sigyn, the only soul in the nine realms she truly trusted remained was Loki, still lost to her, thus necessitating this dangerous undertaking. And so she prepared, not willing to let Loki suffer any longer. She placed her hands flat against the ground, feeling the energy of the depths of Yggdrasil ebb and flow beneath her.

She closed her eyes. “Allmothers, grant me safe passage...” she recited the prayer to her ancestors, that they would guide her safely to her destination, though she knew not where she would end up. Her instinct would show her the way, the pull of Loki's magic, and the memory of the powerful force surrounding it.

“...allow the dark energy to flow through me...” At this, a powerful surge of energy swelled under her hands. The power flowed up through her hands and into her body, overwhelming her own power, threatening to overtake her completely. In the distant corridor footfalls of Einherjar thudded towards the royal chambers, yet she was far too absorbed in her task to pay them heed.

This was it, the critical moment to focus. In her mind, she conjured the vision of Loki, that small flicker of green magic still lingering beneath malevolence. The dark energy encapsulated her entire body, and with a forceful lurch, yanked her from the study, off of Asgard, and into space.

Having never even traveled by Bifrost, the sudden rush of dark energy propelling her through space proved a terrifying sensation. She'd harnessed power she could not guarantee she could control, and now found herself at its mercy, flying past the edges of Yggdrasil and beyond, where even the bravest warriors had not ventured. She clung to the desperate hope that, at the end of this daunting journey, Loki would be there.

The energy slowed, nearing the epicenter of a field of asteroids. Sigyn's own power dwindled at the precipice, having used so much concentration and magic to keep herself from being overwhelmed by the dark energy. But the flicker of green magic, it was near this grim, dark place. As was the force surrounding it.

As she approached, the dark energy began to fade. A lone, tall, thin figure stood before her, as though waiting her arrival. A creature the likes of which she'd never seen before, floating above the center of the asteroid. A vague memory of her experiment with the Tuning Fork seized her with fear. The figure raised a finger to his mouth.

“I told you before, interloper,” he said, with a turn of his free hand. Hundreds of crystal needles materialized around him, all pointed at her. Just as the dark energy faded, leaving a heavy void in its wake, her own power rapidly depleting.

“ _Stay away!”_ The creature shrieked, his voice piercing Sigyn's ears. The crystal needles seized her, hitting with hundreds of barbs into her skin. She screamed as the creature waved his hand, forcing her back into the void, with no dark energy, or any magic at all, to protect her.

Stranded in space, powerless, flesh pierced and blood seeping from her wounds only to crystallize in front of her, Sigyn drifted in the cold void, barely conscious. She'd tried, yet the powers holding Loki were far stronger than she could manage. She hoped he'd find his way, hoped he knew how she'd tried to help free him. Hoped perhaps they'd meet again someday, if not in this lifetime.

A warm, magenta light glowed around her. One with which she'd been deeply familiar so long ago. A solace, a guide, a nurturing love that thrived in her girlhood. She'd never realized how much she'd come to miss it over the years.

“ _Runa?”_

“ _Yes, child,” came the throaty, gentle voice of Sigyn's former mentor, lost to her before she'd ever met Loki. The one who'd trained her in magic, who raised her after the woman who gave birth to her left. Her true mother. “The ancestor of your heart. I am here to guide you, as you asked of me.”_

“ _I am dying.”_

“ _Dying, yes. Dead? No.” Runa's voice sounded closer, as though she were right in her ear. “You between states of being. I will be with you until one state overtakes the other.”_

“ _I have missed you so.”_

“ _No reason to miss me, dear, for I have never truly been gone,” came the reply. And at once the environment changed. No longer the void of space, Sigyn and Runa now sat face to face in the kitchen of Runa's cottage, where Sigyn learned so much of magic, and people, and what it meant to feel loved. “You have suffered much since I saw you last.”_

“ _I have have also known great happiness. But I lost someone dear me. He is in danger, yet I cannot reach him.”_

“ _Foolish endeavor, girl,” said Runa. “Yet endeavors of the heart are never wasted errands.”_

“ _I have encountered great power that I cannot quell. I know not who controls it.”_

“ _I know the powers of which you speak,” said Runa. “I knew I'd never see them in my lifetime, yet the danger on the horizon was clear even to me.”_

“ _How did you know?” asked Sigyn._

“ _In much the same way an elk knows when a pack of wolves draw near, so the universe knows when it is in danger,” said Runa. “I sensed the vibrations, the fearful energy not long before I passed. But you may yet find a way to quell the dangers, in your quest.”_

“ _I am only one soul, looking for one person,” Sigyn protested. “And I have failed thus far even at that.”_

“ _You have grown, my little one, so much stronger than even I,” said Runa. “You are persistent, you are tenacious, you are clever. You lead with your compassion. You follow with empathy. You judge with mercy. This is what makes you formidable opponent. You have failed now, but I know you will try again. I have always told you brute strength can only go so far.”_

_Treated as a nuisance at best, treacherous at worst, since Loki's demise, Sigyn felt her hope return to her, hearing Runa's assurances reminded her she wasn't just the forgotten peasant widow losing her mind in an isolated palace. She was more than what the rest of Asgard thought of her. If only she could return..._

“ _The course of the cosmos will hinge on what you do when you and your beloved reunited. A villain is not always easy to see...” Runa's last words lingered as the scene faded, the magenta glow dimmed, leaving Sigyn alone again._

“ _Runa? Runa!” Sigyn called into the abyss. Another surge of energy, this one dark energy not summoned by her, overtook her body, pulling her along once more._

The last thing she saw was Odin, Frigga, and Heimdall, flanked by a dozen Einherjar, standing at the edge of the shattered Bifrost, where the dark energy propelled her until she landed at their feet. Then everything went black.


End file.
